


boyfriend material

by peculiarblue



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Language, Sharing Clothes, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Underage Drinking, but its like very very brief, i just love this ship so much you guys omg, its all fluff and happiness because that is what they deserve!, kie is the best friend ever, not entirely canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24789595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peculiarblue/pseuds/peculiarblue
Summary: JJ has a whole drawer of t-shirts in the dresser on the right side of his bedroom, so full that it is overflowing and he can barely shut it properly.So he’s not sure why lately he seems to end up in a t-shirt that doesn’t belong to him.(five times JJ borrows Pope's t-shirt, and one time he doesn't have to)
Relationships: JJ/Pope (Outer Banks)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 189





	boyfriend material

**Author's Note:**

> me: sees a post on twitter confirming jj and pope shared one single t-shirt
> 
> also me: writes a 12k word fic on that minuscule detail
> 
> this story largely ignores the presence of John B because I strongly dislike him and also most of canon because I just wanted to write something fluffy and cute. pope and kie never happened, which /should/ be canon. i’m also sorry its so short I have something much longer and heavier in the works hehe. 
> 
> i also barely proofread this so i apologize in advance. 
> 
> as always this was a joy to write and an honor to serve jjpope nation. y’all are big brained and wonderful.
> 
> title based off a joke i kept trying not to make while writing this
> 
> jj: omg pope i love this t-shirt what's it made of?
> 
> pope: uh, cotton?
> 
> jj: wrong... BOYFRIEND MATERIAL

JJ has a whole drawer of t-shirts in the dresser on the right side of his bedroom. Second drawer down from the top. In fact, it doesn’t even shut all the way because it’s _that_ full, overflowing with t-shirts. Every shade, every color and size, varied degrees of grease stained and sun kissed, cut off at the shoulder or ripped at the hem.

So he’s not sure why lately he seems to end up in a t-shirt that doesn’t belong to him.

The first time is an accident, purely out of necessity.

“Dude, watch it!”

Pope ducks behind the side of the van three seconds before JJ can hit him with the hose.

“Relax!”

“I cannot relax,” he yells back, “Not as long as you still have that in your hands.”

JJ just laughs and throws the stream of water up on the hood of the car again, where Kie religiously scrubs with a rag that has seen better days. Once every month, (or, what’s _supposed to be_ every three months but is usually twice a year), they all agree to put aside their distaste for cleaning and wash the van. It’s not a hard task, and should only take an hour, tops. But on the occasion JJ gets the hose before anyone else can, it’s a full day ordeal.

“How about _you_ relax, JJ?” Kie flips her hair over one shoulder and sighs, “I am sick of scrubbing this same spot because you wanna play duck duck goose with the hose around the car with Pope.”

“I don’t wanna play with him,” Pope shakes his head and sloshes his towel in a bucket of sudsy water.

“I thought we were _friends_ , man!”

“Shut up and clean the car,” Pope tries to be stern but it falls flat, JJ’s smirk sending him into an elation of his own. He turns to hide it from the other boy, never one to admit he’s keen on the blonde’s antics, but not before tossing a comment back at Kie, “Also, that’s not dirt, the paints just chipped.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh my god, I remember when we did that,” JJ boasts fondly, remembering an earlier iteration of antics that Pope made him swear he’d never repeat, “You weren’t very relaxed then either.”

“Shut the fuck up and wash the car!” But it doesn’t bite at all, just makes JJ’s cheeks flush and the air feel warmer, the cold water from the hose rendered useless.

“We’re almost done,” JJ reasons, watching his shoddy hose job slip and slide off the hood of the van and fall into a puddle at Kie’s feet, “Think I’m just missing one... spot...”

JJ’s not known for his abundance of good ideas, but even he can tell this might be a new low.

In one quick motion, JJ steps around Kie’s right shoulder, puts one hand on the hood of the car, and sprays the hose directly at Pope.

“You write your will yet?” Kie smirks to the tune of Pope’s cursing, “Just asking.”

JJ only giggles in response and runs in the opposite direction.

The washcloth Pope has been using is flung over his shoulder as he makes a run for it, chasing after JJ around their van absolutely livid. JJ ducks and weaves around the rear-view mirror and behind the tires, laughing as Pope hurls his grievances, his white t-shirt now completely soaked with ice cold hose water. JJ makes a face behind one window and Pope almost catches him, so he hurries to escape the orbit of the car and run closer to the house, but he forgets about the coiled hose laying at his feet as he does it.

“JJ I swear to god I’ll— shit watch out!“

Pope only manages to get one hand around JJ’s wrist before he loses his footing, trips over the hose, and lands flat on his back with a resounding thud.

And as luck would have it, Pope falls with him.

“Dude—”

“I know, I’m sorry,” JJ begins regretfully, and its surprisingly difficult, not because he can’t apologize but because Pope has landed squarely on top of him, noses just a centimeter apart.

“No, you’ve got soapy puddle water in your hair,” Pope giggles, and JJ is sure a sound that sweet could convince a hurricane to turn around and spare them. Pope runs a hand lightly through the tips of JJ’s blonde locks, and JJ tries to remember how to breathe.

“I’m sure I still look like the man of your dreams,” JJ winks, but if feels like less of a joke than he’s used to.

He almost misses Pope’s answer admiring how the sun glows right around his face, soft and wonderful.

“Yeah,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“You gonna beat me up now?” JJ smirks, because he already knows the answer.

“Nah,” Pope shrugs, “I wouldn’t wanna be responsible for messing up that dreamy face of yours.”

And well, it’s a better answer than he was expecting.

“Alright, car’s clean enough!” Kie bursts whatever bubble he and Pope had momentarily been in with the way she slams her hand on the hood of the car, and Pope scrambles to his knees, then stands up. JJ sits up, his hands splashing in the puddle behind him before taking one of Pope’s outstretched hands.

“I think we did a pretty good job!” JJ says.

“Yeah well, maybe if you focused the same energy on the car as you did on Pope, it’d be better than pretty good,” she sighs, “Whatever, I’m starving.”

JJ didn’t realize he was hungry, but now that he thinks about it, his stomach had been flipping a weird way ever since Pope landed on top of him. _Weird_.

“Where are we going?”

“Where am _I_ going, you mean,” Kie eyes JJ as she grabs her backpack and slings it over one shoulder, “I am not going anywhere with you when you look like that.”

“What, you don’t like my muddy puddle chic?” JJ clings to the hem of his shirt and models it in a circle for his friends.

“How do you even know the word chic?”

“It’s disgusting,” Kie says, “You’re on your own.”

“But Kie, I’m so hungry, and you’re 90% of our adult responsibility,” JJ whines, chasing her down as she starts to walk away, blocking her path.

“Hey, I’m very responsible!” Pope argues.

“Not when we’re together,” JJ counters.

“Well, you should have thought about that before you decided to be a child,” Kie says, but JJ starts to believe she’s not actually going to leave them hanging.

He starts to say something about never leaving a Pogue behind when he notices Pope rustling through his own bag out of the corner of his eye.

“Here,” Pope looks up and suddenly tosses something to JJ. When he catches it, JJ sees it’s a t-shirt. Dry and clean and distinctly Pope’s.

“You brought an extra t-shirt?” JJ smiles, “Of course.”

“I like to be prepared.”

“What about you?” JJ tosses the t-shirt back to Pope, “You need one too.”

“Eh, mines just a little wet, it’ll dry up mostly on the way there,” Pope says, “You landed straight in the mud.” He tosses the shirt back.

JJ runs the soft material through his fingers looking down at it for a minute before smiling, and his usual witty demeanor fails him.

“Uh yeah, thanks man,” he nods lamely, and pulls his own shirt over his head to make the change. He drops his old shirt in the puddle and pulls Pope to his side with an arm around his shoulder before the trio starts on their way out to get some food, JJ expertly ignoring the comfortingly familiar scent of Pope’s shirt on his shoulders.

The second time is similar, because it’s truly an accident, but he doesn’t miss the way Kie eyes him from the front of the boat even so.

It’s the middle of the day, the worst heat of the summer hitting them head on as they sit on their boat, the group of four friends. John B and Pope are sitting opposite each other at the edge of the boat, deep in a conversation JJ had decided was way over his head 20 minutes ago, and he sits at the wheel in the shade with Kie. It’s about as normal a summer day as any, the scene not unfamiliar in their years of friendship.

That is, until Kie decides to throw him for a loop.

“What’s going on with you and Pope?”

JJ actually spits out his beer and loses his footing.

“What’s _going on?_ ”

“Yeah, like,” she nods up to where the other boy sits, head tilted back laughing at something John B must have said, “You asked him out?”

“No!”

“He asked _you_?” Kie’s eyes widen, “Damn, I didn’t think he had it in him.”

“No, no one asked anyone out, are you high?”

“Not yet,” she smirks, “And I’m not crazy.”

“Yeah, you are,” JJ scoffs and picks his beer up again, “You really made me waste a perfectly good sip of beer on that?”

“Dude, I was half convinced the kid was in love with _me_ for forever,” she says, “Believe me, I was just as surprised as you when I noticed things changed.”

“Kie, we’re all in love with you. And we’re— me and Pope— we’re definitely not— I mean, you know—” JJ isn’t sure why he’s struggling around his words right now, it’s not like the idea of Kie dating one of them is new, JJ was pretty sure she had a thing for John B at one point, or maybe he had a thing for her, not that it matters right now, just that this revelation probably shouldn’t be bothering him so much because he barely bat a lash at the John B thing, encouraged it even. But Kie? Dating Pope? It’s sitting weird, and he’s not sure why. He clears his throat to finish the thought, “I’m not gonna date him so, yeah, he’s still all yours.”

“One, gross,” Kie hums, stealing JJ’s drink and taking a sip, “And two, I don’t _want_ him to be in love with me.”

“Really?”

She shakes her head.

“Oh, well,” he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “That’s cool too. He’d be a handful to date.”

“You think so?” and something about the way she smiles at him like she knows something would normally freak him out, but he’s currently very focused on the thought of dating Pope.

“Yeah, I mean, not that I’ve thought about it before or anything,” because he _hasn’t,_ obviously, “But yeah, I mean, look at him!”

JJ follows where he points to the front of the boat, Pope now standing and looking over the edge, his hat a little crooked on his head and his t-shirt right around his shoulders. Not that he’s looking at that, obviously. No, he’s just being observant, observing the fact that Pope would be really easy to push into the water right now.

“Don’t do it.”

“What?” JJ turns back to look at Kie.

“You know, being mean to someone you like hasn’t been the move for like, _ever_.”

“I don’t like him,” JJ yells, handing off his beer, “Watch my beer!”

“I need a girlfriend,” is the last thing JJ hears her say before he runs up to the other boys.

“Who don’t you like?” John B kicks JJ’s shin where he sits, JJ hopping up to stand next to Pope, their shoulders bumping.

“You could hear that?” JJ asks, surprised. Shit. “Uh, it was Pope, obviously,” he smirks, hoping maybe he can just play the whole thing off like their usual witty banter.

“You don’t like me?” Pope shakes his head teasingly.

“Nope.”

“Well, at least let me prepare myself before you push me off the boat.”

“How did everyone know I was gonna do that?” JJ balks, swinging around to check on Kie, who watches with that same knowing smile, and John B at his feet who laughs. He’s so busy look at his other friends that he completely misses the fact that Pope on his right has taken off his shoes and slipped his shirt over his head.

JJ almost forgets what he’s doing when he faces Pope again, now shirtless. But he’s not looking, obviously.

“You’re nothing if not consistent,” Pope says in answer, placing a hand gently on the side of JJ’s face with a gentle pat.

It’s not until a moment passes and Pope brings his hand back to his own side that JJ can properly collect himself with a quick breath, “Any last words, Heyward?”

“You know, I don’t like when you do that, makes me feel like my dad.”

“Weird choice of last words,” he smirks, and pushes a hand against Popes back, watches him stumble into the water in front of them.

The waves from the impact splash at his ankles and mingle with his laughter, free and bright in the summer air. He ducks down on his toes, closer to eye level when Pope swims up and shakes the water from his hair.

“Beautiful day for a swim!”

“Is it?” JJ laughs as Pope dips back into the water, and comes up almost flush with the side of the boat where he is.

“Yeah,” Pope hums and flings a splash of water onto JJ’s face. He winces at the impact but the smile doesn’t drop from his face for a moment.

“That the best you got?”

“You know, I’m realizing I don’t think I like you either,” Pope latches his hands on the side of the boat, and JJ has an overwhelming urge to grab onto one of them (another thought he’s never had before, of course).

“Not even like,” JJ pinches two fingers together and squints, “a little bit?”

“Not at all,” he smirks, and uses one hand to close the tiny gap between JJ’s fingers, his grip lingering and making every nerve cell in JJ’s hand buzz.

“Glad we’re on the same page about this.”

“Yeah,” Pope starts, “So I guess to make things even, I should give you the heads up to take your shirt off.”

“What?” And JJ’s glad he hasn’t wasted another sip of beer. Kie’s previous question had caught him more off guard but with this statement, is the somersault in his stomach that surprises him. “You want me to take my shirt off?”

Pope just darts his eyes down at the water, then smiles back up at the blonde.

“Oh, okay,” JJ seems to catch on, and quickly rids himself of his shoes and shirt, “Lemme just—”

“Too late!”

And in one quick motion, Pope tugs a hand on JJ’s arm and pulls him, head first, into the water with him.

JJ gasps when he returns to the surface, the uncomfortable feeling of water stuck in one ear and the water far colder on his skin than he was expecting, but the very warm comfort of Pope’s smile, his gentle laugh, directed solely at _him._

“Alright, I take it back!”

“Take what back?” Pope sing songs as JJ, breathless, flounders to stay afloat.

“You gonna make me say it?”

“It’d be nice to hear,” he shrugs.

“I don’t not like you.”

“That’s a double negative.”

“What the hell is a—” JJ’s eyebrows crease together on his forehead, now just inches away from where Pope floats in front of him, “Fine, whatever. I like you.”

“Aw man, I like you too,” Pope smiles, a mocking heartfelt hand to his chest, before JJ laughs loudly and pulls him under the water with him again.

Kie and John B seemed to be content on staying on the dry boat, and both boys seemed to know better than to pull a similar stunt on either of them.

Mere minutes pass in the water before they notice Kie squinting at something opposite them, coming from the shore.

“Shit, guys we gotta go.”

“What?” Pope pulls up to the side of the boat again.

“Some Kooks are on their way over.”

“What the hell are they doing here?” JJ balks, “Don’t they have their own fancy water to sail their fancy boats and be fancy on?”

“You think they’re fancy or something?” John B snickers, but starts to stand up anyway.

“Fancy and stuck up,” JJ elaborates, then adds under his breath, “Assholes.” it earns him a kick in the shin underwater from Pope.

“I have no idea why they’re here but I’m really not in the mood to fight today,” Kie starts, “So can we just go?”

“When are you ever in the mood _to_ fight?” JJ grabs the side of the boat and pulls himself up and over out of the water, Pope just a step behind.

“When are you ever in the mood _not to_?”

“Fair enough,” he concedes, shakes himself quickly dry and grabs a t-shirt at his feet, tosses it on over his head before John B starts to boat moving again.

“We were probably gonna leave to get food pretty soon anyway,” Pope shrugs, “What’s five minutes earlier?”

“Ever the optimist,” JJ hops of the front of the boat and sits on the edge, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt out of habit, “You’re paying?”

“No but _you’re_ wearing my shirt.”

JJ freezes as soon as he hears him say it, twists his lips and furrows his brow in confusion, and looks down and oh, yup, _not_ his shirt after all. _Its Pope’s_.

He must have grabbed Pope’s accidentally when he got back on the boat. Of course.

He shrugs and starts to apologize immediately, one hand already on the hem ready to pull it off, “Oh, my bad—“

“Don’t worry,” Pope laughs, and picks up JJ’s discarded t-shirt that had been sitting next to him, “Looks better on you anyway.”

And now Kie’s giving him _the look_. Wonderful.

“Oh uh, okay,” he answers lamely, his fidgeting fingers returning to the hem of his, er _Pope’s_ , shirt. Kie snickers and climbs her way over to him, Pope seemingly already past the situation, like he could just _say_ something like that and drop it. Like it’s nothing. Like JJ isn’t gonna run that phrase over in his head like a wave that keeps crashing at the shore. _Looks better on you anyway._

John B starts driving them away, Kie skips her way over to JJ, but all JJ himself can focus on is how Pope pulls JJ’s shirt on and walks over to sit on the back end of the boat.

And just because Pope has already put the sentiment out there, he does really look better in that shirt than JJ knows he ever could.

“You sure you don’t wanna date him?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“ _I_ will pay for your food if you ask him out,” Kie laughs and hands JJ a new beer that he accepts readily, “Or maybe I could just teach you some pick-up lines?”

“Kie, I am begging you to stop speaking.”

“Because I really don’t think ‘oh, okay’ is the most inspired line of flirting—”

“I’ll throw you in next,” JJ warns, but it doesn’t do anything to quell Kie’s teasing giggles.

“But whose shirt will I steal?”

It takes a self-control JJ never knew he had to not knock her over immediately.

But Pope’s still smiling at him and JJ finds it easy to think of nothing else, any i’ll feelings over Kie’s totally incorrect assumption is completely forgotten.

By the third time it’s almost alarming how comfortable it is, but JJ pays it no mind. Pope’s his best friend, plain and simple. It’s not really that unusual of a thing, sharing clothes, when he thinks about it. But he chooses to actively _not_ think about the swooping sensation in his stomach every time he slips one of Pope’s white t-shirts over his head and smells his cologne. Not thinking about _that_ at all.

It’s been almost a week since John B and Sarah went missing at sea, and almost the same amount of time JJ’s been living on Pope’s couch when it happens.

JJ doesn’t recall much of the sequence of events following those three stupid words, _we lost them_ , but he knew almost immediately home didn’t seem like the best place to go, and his usual option B was currently under intense scrutiny by the entire Outer Banks police department, so. He spent about ten minutes scrutinizing in his head the pros and cons of sleeping in his car before Pope’s mom seemed to make it her sole mission to bring JJ back with them. _Moms_ , you know? She implored how worried sick she’d be, what with a storm still in their presence. Even Heyward said their house was closer anyway, it’d just be safest, and JJ was half sure in all the year he’d been friends with Pope, his dad had never uttered his name and ‘safe’ in the same sentence.

But they took him home and kept him warm and it’s been a whole week and they haven’t kicked him out. Asked him to stay, actually.

JJ isn’t used to family dynamics of any kind. The smell of coffee in the morning, hearing the kitchen floorboards creek past midnight from his spot on the couch and trying to guess who’s made a brave mid-night snack trip, royally messing up how much detergent to put in the washing machine to clean him blanket and always having someone to talk to.

Oddly enough, he doesn’t feel out of place.

It is different though, and he feels terrible for intruding for so long with absolutely nothing to show for it. Heyward’s roped Pope back into work almost days later and shuts JJ down every morning he tries to help, saying Pope can clean up his own messes, or something like that, though JJ isn’t sure what that means, since Pope himself did not inflict hurricane force winds across town and mess everything up for its residents but whatever. He won’t argue. And JJ doesn’t really have a job of his own at the moment. So. Sometimes it’s just him and his couch.

Like today, for example. Pope’s out with his dad and Mrs. Heyward had been gone most of the afternoon running errands, so he’s alone. He thinks about finding Kie but she’s made herself very busy in the past week, filling her time her own way of coping. He already took a nap and he lost the TV remote somewhere in the couch cushions that he doesn’t feel like looking for right now, so he takes this as his cue to finally find some way to repay the Heyward family even a little bit.

And to whatever power that ay be out there that decided to put the brilliant idea in his head that cooking dinner was the way to repay them: screw you.

JJ’s never cooked anything beyond cereal, so he’s not sure why he decides now is the time to start, but he’s bored and he’s on a mission so, how bad could it be?

He narrates his culinary escapade to himself as he rummages through the pantry, surveys the fridge and tries to think if he were a pot, what cabinet he’s be hiding in.

(Third to the left, second shelf front he top, in case you were wondering.)

He finds a box of spaghetti and figures pasta has to be the easiest option here, and gets as far as filling the point with some water and putting it on the stove, then agonizes over whether its the right amount of water or not so on second thought no, he hadn’t even gotten that far yet.

He decides to call for backup.

Kie hasn’t talked to either of them all week, and had actively dodged several sets of texts and numerous calls. She’d check in occasionally to let them know she was alive but other than that, radio silence.

But she’s the best cook he knows so, he figures it’s worth a shot.

She answers on the second ring, “Uh hey, everything okay?” he tucks the phone to his ear as KIe greets him on the line, walking back to the pantry to look for other options.

“Alright, so let’s say, _hypothetically_ —”

“I already don’t like where this is going.”

“You wanna cook pasta,” JJ shakes the box of uncooked pasta in his hands and returns to the pot on the stove, “Would you put the put the pasta in the pot before or after the water.”

“Why are you cooking pasta?” She inquires.

“I’m not cooking pasta, I said hypothetically, keep up, Kie,” JJ huffs, gives his questionable amount of water in the pot a stir with a wooden spoon he’d found.

“Why do you hypothetically need to know how to cook pasta?”

“I’m writing a cookbook in all my spare time now that we’re not millionaires,” he quips, “Before or after the water?”

“Let the water boil, then put the pasta in.”

“Right,” he sighs, thankful for her no longer asking questions, “Uh, just for clarification, how do you, um—”

“Boil water?”

“I want this cookbook to be very thorough,” JJ nods, “Get the most bang out of your buck.”

“Never say that again,” Kie says flatly, “Where are you, I’ll come help.”

“No, no, it’s fine I can do this, I _have_ to do this,” JJ laughs nervously, “Do I turn the stove on?”

Kie is quiet for a moment, but JJ takes the silence as a yes, and tentatively attempts to… boil water.

“Okay, you know what, I think this is working, so I should probably—”

“Sorry I’ve been kind of, you know, MIA this week,” Kie starts abruptly, quietly, JJ almost misses it, “Been kind of blowing you and Pope off for a while.”

“No, no, its okay,” he reasons, because it’s true, it was okay, the three of them _were okay,_ and that’s all that really mattered to JJ anyway, “I mean, I’ve said you’re about 90% of Pope and I’s impulse control, but I am surprisingly much more reserved when I’m living on his parents’ couch.”

“You’re _what?_ ”

“Yeah, I did not see it coming either,” JJ shakes his head fondly and goes back to the pantry to figure out a sauce, “But I think I’m growing on Heyward.”

“I obviously missed a lot,” she laughs lightly, “I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be, we’re all handling this differently,” JJ says, “And you didn’t miss too much but, we do miss you.”

“Yeah, I miss your dumbasses too,” and it doesn’t sound sentimental but it is, and JJ’s glad to have her back. And totally not because bubbles are about to spill over the edge of his pot of boiling water and he has no idea what to do about it.

“Okay, so, now that that’s all sorted, let’s say, hypothetically—”

“Hypothetical my ass, what’s going on?”

“Fuck you for knowing everything.”

“I don’t know everything you’re just a shit liar.”

“Alright, alright, I’m trying to cook dinner.”

“I gathered that much,” and JJ can almost _hear_ the eye roll, “But if it’s just for you, why go through all the trouble? Just eat a pop-tart, or come here and I’ll feed you—”

“No, no, it’s not just me,” JJ says, “I’m trying to make dinner for, you know, everyone. As like a uh, a thank you.”

“Oh my god, don’t take this out of context but you’re literally so cute.”

“Shut up.”

“I can _feel_ you blushing through my phone.”

“I’ll hang up and just, find the Martha Stewart channel on TV or something.”

“Good luck with that, Romeo,” KIe laughs, “Hard to impress the future in-laws if you cannot boil water.”

“Fuck you, I boiled the water!” JJ leans up on his tiptoes to peer into the pot, “…but now what?”

It’s difficult for Kie to narrate on the phone, and even more difficult for JJ to follow her instructions because sometimes the words she uses literally don’t sound like English and most difficult yet when she keeps teasing him about the crush on Pope she’s still convinced he’s harboring.

Somewhere between arguing over what a pinch of salt really is and trying to defend himself when he explains how he slept sitting up on the couch last night because Pope fell asleep with his head in his lap, JJ manages to burn the sauce, lose half the spaghetti when it sticks to the pot, and mistake sugar for salt. It’s going really well, yeah.

“Oh my god,” JJ throws his head back and whines, “Why is this so difficult?”

“You’re trying too hard.”

“I am not, if anything I am not trying hard enough,” JJ sighs at the saucepan, sauce burnt to a black and sticking at the edges, “I’m gonna poison them.”

“That’s one hell of a way to say thank you,” Kie chuckles, attempting to put some levity back into the situation, “Let’s try to fix the sauce one more time, it cannot be that bad.”

“It’s _terrible_ , Kie,” JJ uses a spatula he found to try to scrape some of the inedible parts of the sauce off the side of the pan, but it’s like, _really burnt._ He uses all of his upper body strength to try to get the cemented paste to budge, and as luck would have it, when it finally decides to give, it splashes right across the front of his t-shirt. “Terrific.”

“What? It worked? You tasted it? It’s good?” Kie excitedly chirps, as JJ tries to clean his shirt with a paper towel.

“No, I’m not eating it, I’m _wearing_ it.”

“JJ—”

“This shit is not for me, seriously, I’m never trying this again.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

“No, no,” JJ makes a face as a drop of the sauce on his shirt rolls down and splatters on the floor, _gross_ , “I’ll probably just order a pizza.”

“I can bring you guys takeout from The Wreck? We can move it to new plates so it looks like you cooked it!”

“Seriously, thanks Kie, but,” JJ winces at the mess on the stove and in the sink and on the floor and on his shirt, “I’ll probably get kicked out tonight.”

“You’re so dramatic,” she says, “Just promise me you’ll let me give you a proper face-to-face cooking lesson before you wanna cook for Pope.”

“Why would I wanna cook for Pope, I’m trying right now and it’s awful.”

“I don’t know I hear it’s really romantic.”

“I swear to god, I’m never confiding in you every again,” JJ huffs, tossing his spatula in the sink and running water over it, as Kie giggles to herself.

“You didn’t confide in me at all!” She yells, but she’s still laughing, “You’re told me absolutely nothing! I’m literally just being observant.”

“Talk to Pope about it then, if you’re so interested,” he huffs.

“I have.”

“You have?” JJ suddenly drops his cleaning sponge and clutches his phone to his ear, swiveling to lean is back against the counter, “What’d he say?”

“Oh my god.”

“Kie, what did he say?”

“I’m not telling you,” she quips, “Bro code.”

“I am your bro.”

“Well, I don’t like to pick sides but Pope _did_ tell me first—”

“Told you _what_ first?”

“Nothing you’re not telling me with your interrogation right now,” she snickers, “God the ‘I told you so’ is gonna feel _so_ good.”

JJ’s just formulating a witty comeback for that when he hears the front door open. _Shit._

“Kie, I gotta go,” he whispers, and barely catches her confusion before swiftly hanging up and hearing the front door closed.

“Mom? You home?” It’s Pope, JJ panics, tries to throw some other things in the sink, sweep some flour off the counter, “Whatever you’re cooking smells really good!”

_What the hell?_

JJ gets one last sauce splatter off the fridge before he hears Pope’s footsteps in the entrance to the kitchen. Sheepishly, he turns on his heels to face his friend.

“It’s not what it looks like.”

“You cooked?”

“Like I said, it’s not what it looks like,” JJ rocks nervously back on his heels, “ _Cook_ is a very loose term for what just happened in this kitchen.”

Pope laughs, that really sweet and small laugh JJ loves to watch, where his nose crinkles up and when he’s close enough, he can count the wrinkles around his eyes.

No. Not a crush. Not romantic. Kie had _no idea_ what she was talking about.

“Do you happen to have any industrial dish soap?” JJ says, wiping his hands on the front of his already ruined shirt.

“Industrial dish soap, huh?” Pope steps further into the room, smiling as he passes through the mess JJ’s created, “I don’t think we have that, no.”

“Well, shit,” JJ turns to look at the sink.

“I’m pretty good at washing dishes though.”

“Of course you are, you’re good at everything,” JJ rolls his eyes fondly, as Pope looks into the pot of dried out sauce.

“Sauce didn’t taste good enough so you decided to wear it?” Pope teases, eyes trailing down JJ’s torso slowly. JJ feels his stomach twist itself into knots.

“Yeah, I was going for a look, you know,” JJ nods, “Figured I wasn’t giving your dad enough hell already.”

Pope chuckles lightly, “I don’t think that’s possible,” he looks back up at JJ, “So, what was the occasion master chef?”

“I was hungry,” JJ shrugs.

But he’s never really been good at keeping anything from Pope. Not really.

“I uh,” he starts again, “I wanted to surprise you guys.” He’s suddenly very interested in the lines on the tile floor.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” JJ shrugs, “I don’t really know the first thing about like, family or anything but, dinner sounded like kind of a nice way to say thank you,” He looks at Pope quickly and his stomach flips again, so he looks back down, far too vulnerable than he’s used to being, so he adds quickly with a wit, “Also I couldn’t find the remote, and I _was_ hungry so…”

“Right,” Pope smiles, “For the record it was a really nice thing to do.”

“Yeah if you prefer your sauce charred,” JJ notes his lip in a small smile, “Or you don’t mind eating it off my shirt instead of a plate.”

“Well I did say it smelled good,” Pope leans forward, closer to JJ.

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“And uh, I like having you here,” and Pope must think the tile flooring is pretty interesting too! “I mean, we all do, even my dad, but uh, yeah,” he finally looks up.

“I like being here,” JJ answers honestly.

“I don’t not like you.”

“Well, that’s just ridiculous,” JJ shakes his head, “A double negative.”

“Shut up,” Pope looks away embarrassed, but quickly thinks better of it and hugs JJ full on, chin in the crook of his neck, breath fanning down his back, fingers almost playing with his hair.

JJ sighs, content, “Okay, I’ll shut up.”

He’s not sure how long they stand there, quietly content with each other in the middle of the kitchen, but JJ is grateful for every minute. He’s never felt so safe in his life, so comfortable, so… l-worded. Shit. (He’s never telling Kie, like, _ever_.)

“Alright, kinda doesn’t smell so good anymore,” Pope whispers just as he’s pulling away, but his hands stay on JJ’s sides, “No offense.”

“None taken, I lost my sense of smell,” JJ hums, “Think I stood too close to the flame when I was trying to learn how to boil water.”

“Trying to learn how to—” Pope starts, eyebrows furrowed, “You know what, I’m not even gonna ask.”

“Good because once I finish washing these dishes, I’m never repeating anything that happened in this kitchen every again.”

“You do that, and I’ll go grab some take-out before my parents get home?” Pope claps his hands together and starts his way towards the kitchen’s exit, grabbing his phone and his wallet from the only untouched counter space, “I can make it back pretty quick, and we can put them in nice plates and convince my parents you cooked it.”

“Kie said the same thing, do you guys have _that_ little faith in me?” JJ scoffs, “That I have to resort to lying?”

“You talked to Kie?”

“She attempted to help,” JJ turns back to the sink, “Never again.”

“I’ll call her on the way so the foods ready and we can make the switch in time,” Pope says, “I’ll be like, 20 minutes tops.”

“Aye aye, captain,” He salutes before plunging his hands back into the dirty sink water and trying to find that spatula. He assumes Pope has left, but he peeks a head back in five minutes later and drops something on the counter.

“For when you finish cleaning,” he smiles, but runs back over to JJ before leaving again, “What is with you and getting soap in your hair, dude? How’d you even manage that in the five minutes I was gone?” He smiles up close to him, and runs a hand through his hair, his fingers sliding gently down his cheek before squeezing his shoulder as a way of parting. He points at the shirt he left on the counter before finally running out, “And don’t forget to change!”

It’s only after the kitchen is cleaned and he’s sitting next to Pope’s dad, who’s actually _smiling_ at the dinner table, that he realizes the shirt is Pope’s.

On the fourth time there’s definitely a problem because Pope gives JJ his sweatshirt right off his own body and he’s not too sure how he’s supposed to concentrate on this being a _bro thing_ anymore.

It’s late into the summer by now, and JJ’s collected 3 of Pope’s shirts but none of his feelings. A bit unfair if you ask him.

He’s still mostly living on Pope’s couch and not entirely out of necessity either. He likes being there, and they keep asking him to stay, and for once it feels nice to choose something and like the outcome. He’s gotten very good at boiling water in the meantime.

He has convinced Heyward to let him do some work, which keeps him and Pope busy. But he’s been almost easy on them, by Heyward standards lately, so it leaves them a good amount of free time. They use it wisely.

One night it’s just the two of them, Kie otherwise occupied, and well, their impulse control gone with her. The boys slip out of the house with little fanfare at sunset, and run full sprint towards the beach. And it’s strange because JJ doesn’t even consider getting high. The feeling doesn’t mix well with whatever’s going on with him and Pope.

“Oh my god, slow down you’re kicking sand in my face!” JJ hears Pope yell behind him when they reach the beach, running to settle in their favorite spot. He kicks his foot back for good measure, and it earns him a quiet _fuck you JJ._

They’re alone save for a few tourists trying to soak up the tail end of their vacation house rental period, so JJ finds their spot and lays down, his hands tucked behind his head. Pope sits to join him but looks down at him inquisitively.

“What are you doing?”

“I wanted to stargaze,” JJ makes himself comfortable in the cool sand, crossing his legs at his ankles and eyes searching the sky.

“It’s 6 pm.”

“Yeah well, I didn’t think the plan all the way through,” JJ hums, and pats the spot next to him for Pope to join.

“Do you think anything through though?”

“No,” he answers, but the truth is he’s been thinking about something quite a bit lately.

Pope lays back and JJ feels his fingers brush against his own. Thinking. Thinking _many_ thoughts.

“You wanted to go stargazing?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep the other night and there is a surprising lack of quality TV available at 3 am,” JJ laughs, “Almost exclusively nature documentaries.”

“On stars?”

“I think,” he hums, “You know I don’t understand half of those big sciencey words.”

“You couldn’t sleep?” And JJ’s not too glad that’s the part Pope has decided to focus on now.

“The documentary on weather patterns in America did me in eventually.”

“You know, you can always stop by my room,” Pope starts, voice soft and gentle, “Like any time but also, if you’re having trouble sleeping.”

“I don’t—”

“I haven’t really slept through the night since, ya know,” Pope trails off, _we lost them,_ “But uh, I like your company.”

“You _like my company_? What are we, 40-year-old corporate coworkers who share a cubicle?”

“If I was sharing a cubicle with you I would no longer enjoy your company.”

“Rude.”

“Just telling the truth,” Pope’s laugh tickles the side of neck, and JJ fights the urge to turn and face him, because then he’s sure their noses would touch and he’d think about it too long and just. Do something. Do something Pope probably wouldn’t want him to.

“It’s too bad,” he says quietly, trying to change the subject for his own sake.

“What is?”

“I was really gonna impress you.”

“Is that so?” And Pope really needs to stop looking at him like that, with the way it makes his feelings explode in little bursts of warmth that tingle on his skin.

“Did you know there are over 100 billion stars in the galaxy?”

“Really?”

“You know if we tried to drive to the nearest star, it would take—”

“356 billion years.”

“You knew that one?”

“Lucky guess,” Pope knocks his elbow on the side of JJ’s rib and it rattles the butterflies he’s holding hostage.

“Course it was,” JJ kicks at the sand at feet, “I don’t know if I trust it though.”

“You don’t trust...”

“That number? Who has ever sat in a car for 356 billion years?”

“You’re not serious.”

“Like, did they account for bathroom breaks? Rest stops? Getting gas? Traffic?”

“JJ, for my future sanity I need you to tell me you’re joking.”

“How many people are on the trip? Because if it’s one person, when do they sleep? Who watches the car when they’re at the rest stop?”

“I am going to have a full head of gray hair at the age of 17.”

“If it’s two people, where do you find two people who like each other that much, who are _willing_ to spend 356 billion years in a car together? Just to see a flaming hot ball of gas.”

“You know what, that part was actually right.”

“Two people not being able to spend all that time together?”

“No, hot ball of gas,” Pope deadpans and turns his head back up to the sky.

“So you know two people who would be willing to make the trip together?”

“I’m assuming you know they wouldn’t actually be driving,” Pope begins, “They’d be in a space ship, and they’d put them into hyper-sleep, so they wouldn’t need to interact that much.”

“Sounds like our kind of trip,” JJ smirks, “No way I could annoy you if we just like, slept for a couple billion years.”

“I’d go with you,” Pope says, “Without sleeping.”

JJ feels like sinking into the sand.

“That’s a lot of hours.” Not enough, he thinks, _not enough to be with you_.

“I could keep you awake with astronomy facts, now that I know you’re interested,” Pope shrugs, only JJ knows he’s _not interested at all_ , just saw an opportunity to impress Pope and well, you know, the opportunity was _there._

And despite the fact that he knows listening to astronomy facts will actually put him to sleep, not keep him awake, he answers, “Sure, I’d like that.”

“We can start today.”

“Huh?”

“Uh, you know, with the astronomy facts,” Pope starts and seems almost, nervous? “You can come ‘not sleep’ in my room and we can like, talk about the distance between stars.”

And that’s probably what does it.

JJ’s never been in love before, but he’s heard about it, seen movies and read books— er, the SparkNotes summary of Romeo and Juliet in 9th grade. So he’s had a lot of time to think about what love might feel like, and he didn’t guess it to be anything like this. It’s sudden, but not unexpected, in a kind of love at first sight even though I think I’ve known I’d love you all along sort of way. He believes love has a sweeping soundtrack, like a coming of age credit sequence, that it will present itself to him with color and life.

But instead he finds it laying in the sand in the gray area between sunset and a starry night sky, sand itching in his dirty hair and the wind kicking it into his eyes, a tourist’s speaker playing some country music far off in the distance.

He gets it when his best friend Pope asks him to talk about the distance between the stars with him.

It’s all very overwhelming, and a pretty significant thought to have and try to keep to yourself with your nose just an inch from the person your newfound love belongs to. But JJ’s been acting his whole life, and schooling his features into something collected happens in mere seconds post discovery.

“Okay,” is all he manages for an answer, “Only if I get to share some of my space facts too.”

“You have a lot more?”

“I wouldn’t say _a lot,”_ JJ rolls his eyes, and points up haphazardly at the still pinkish-orange sky, “Like I think that’s where the Big Dipper would be.”

“That’s absolutely incorrect.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that,” Pope nods, laughter lacing his voice.

“Alright smarty pants, how about this?” He moves his pointed finger to the right a little, “There’s gonna be a star, right there, in a few hours.”

“Oh, you _genius_.”

“I know, I’ve been trying to stay humble, you know, don’t wanna make you feel bad.”

“Humble and kind, what a saint you are.”

“I try,” JJ smirks.

“What happens when you’re wrong?”

“When I’m wrong?”

“When a star doesn’t show up there in a few hours,” Pope turns and faces JJ, and still a bit nervous with his l-word revelation rolling around in his brain, he makes the bold move to mirror him, “What happens then?”

“I uh,” he starts, rather eloquently, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t.”

“Funny, I don’t know either.”

“That’s not true, you’re Pope Heyward,” JJ says softly, “You know everything.”

“I don’t know _everything_.”

“Name one thing you don’t know.”

“If I don’t know it, how am I supposed to tell you it?” Pope’s eyes dart nervously from JJ to the sky and back to JJ as he says it.

“I don’t know.”

“We gotta stop saying that.”

“Well see, _there’s_ something I don’t know,” JJ reasons, “I don’t know what you don’t know.”

“You really went there, huh?”

“I did, I did indeed, my friend,” and for the first time in a while, JJ notices how badly he wants that word to have another syllable.

“Well, there are things I don’t know about you,” Pope says, almost so lightly that if JJ weren’t so attuned to noticing every little thing Pope did, he might have missed it. “Sometimes I don’t know how you’re feeling.”

JJ is quiet for a moment, “Well, you’ve got a point there.”

They look at each other for a long while, just the two of them in the middle of an almost empty beach, failing to stargaze and instead content to just look in each other’s eyes.

Without warning, Pope’s pinky links around JJ’s, the smallest and simplest of gestures, but it makes JJ feel like he’s halfway through their road trip to the stars already.

“Right now, I can tell you I’m feeling like sharing another space fact to impress you,” JJ clears his throat, sits up, cuts the tension indefinitely, “Take another stab at impressing you.”

“I’m already impressed,” Pope drawls before slowly sitting up to join him.

“Well,” JJ bumps his shoulder into Pope’s, “Did you know, Venus is the hottest planet?”

“I didn’t know that, actually.”

“You’re lying!” JJ gasps, but Pope nods. He has a feeling he’s right anyway though.

“See? Something I didn’t know.”

“And another fun fact,” JJ tips his head down towards Pope’s, “I am the hottest guy on this beach.”

“Now that I _did_ know.”

Abort mission. Sound every alarm.

“I should clarify, on a normal day, I’m the hottest guy on this beach, however, I did not listen to Mama Heyward and I did not dress appropriately,” JJ tugs at the hem of his sweatshirt, “And It’s windy.”

“So you’re cold?”

“Exactly.”

“Can’t be the hottest guy on the beach when you’re cold.”

“I knew you were smart,” JJ chuckles, “So I guess that would make you the hottest guy on the beach. For tonight at least.”

Pope reaches up and pulls his oversized red sweatshirt over his head, flips out the hood and the sleeves that he’d messed up, then drops it in JJ’s lap.

“I’m not cold.”

“You’re hot, we established that,” JJ answers, and thank _god_ for double meanings. JJ just knows Pope would be so proud of him if he knew. So literary of him.

“So, put it on, I don’t need it,” Pope implores, smiling, and JJ complies pretty quickly, almost _too_ quickly, rushing to get that familiar scent and warm reassurance of wearing Pope’s clothes. Pope beams at him one he’s done, nudges at the collar that’s too big on him. “There we go, order is restored.”

They stay on the beach for a while longer, JJ isn’t sure of the time.

What he is sure of is that that night he falls asleep in Pope’s bed, sleeps in Pope’s sweatshirt, and dreams of a road trip to the stars, 356 billion years long, only one partner in mind.

The fifth time JJ is sure. He’s in love with his best friend.

The realization is not new but the accepting it part is. It’s been a few days since whatever that was on the beach and JJ’s stopped trying to talk himself out of it. Everything he does now somehow comes back to Pope. It is an endless cycle of feelings and honestly, he’s tired of fighting it. He’ll just ship himself off to the surface of Venus if need be. He wouldn’t mind the trip.

He also is avoiding Kie at all costs. The girl will hit him with an _I told you so_ and he just doesn’t need that weighing on his subconscious in his current predicament.

Predicament being: Pope. Or, more specifically, Pope on one of his college interviews.

He’d been a nervous wreck about it for weeks, last night’s stress at an all-time high (JJ knows because he sleeps in his bed more often than not, that is a thing they are actively doing and not addressing, yeah, _he knows)._

JJ helped him straighten his ties and check that his shoelaces were tied, listened to Pope try to justify brushing his teeth three times because he didn’t want to have bad breath when he was speaking to the interviewer, which JJ definitely thought was overkill but decided not to fight him on. He promised to keep himself busy around the house without messing up Pope’s room until 3:15 when he was going to pick Pope up from the interview.

He does manage to keep himself busy, for the most part. Pope’s mom teaches him how to make a grilled cheese, he folds some laundry, memorizes three new nature documentary facts to use on Pope (if you had ever told JJ he’d be using his ability to recite Latin names of amazon plants to get a guy’s attention in lieu of pickup lines, he’d probably punch you in the face. And yet. Here we are).

About a half hour until the interview is schedules to finish, JJ’s decided he’s had enough of pretending to stay calm. It’s not even his interview and he’s been nervous all day. He just knows how much this college offer could mean for Pope, for his future. So, he rummages through his closet, and settles on the cleanest t-shirt he can find to make a good impression on all the very wealthy people he was sure would be scrutinizing him outside the interview building.

He looks up and down his appearance in the mirror, grabs his phone and his wallet and his house key, and starts out the door, a goodbye kiss from Mrs. Heyward on his cheek.

A couple minutes into his walk and far too much alone time with his thoughts, JJ feels weird showing up empty handed, and without really thinking about it at all, makes one tiny pit-stop before arriving at the entrance to the place Pope was interviewing at.

He sits on a step to the right of the building, back to the door for a few minutes, Pope appearing outside at 3:17 exactly.

“Is that my shirt?”

JJ hears Pope’s voice and turns to look at him, his perfectly ironed button-down shirt and charming interview smile.

“What?”

“That’s my shirt, that you’re wearing,” the interview smile melts into something more relaxed as he crosses the last few steps before reaching the stairs JJ had been waiting on.

“No, it’s not, I grabbed it from—” JJ hops up from his seat quickly in defense, tucks both hands behind his back away from Pope and then looks down, “Oh, I didn’t—”

“I’ve been looking for this one,” Pope says, not at all accusatory, just laughing, “It’s fine thought, should have known it’d look better on you anyway.”

JJ feels like falling off the step, “Why do you always say that? It’s a t-shirt, they look good on everyone.” JJ tries to deflect because he’s currently drowning in feelings, a buzzing feeling swelling up in him all at once, never combined with Pope repeatedly telling him he looks good in his clothes, and slight embarrassment that he took the shirt accidentally anyway. His preference for Pope has gotten so bad he’s even doing it subconsciously, in his choice of clothing.

“I’m just telling the truth,” Pope pushes JJ’s left shoulder lightly, “What are you hiding back there, another t-shirt to steal?”

“No,” JJ rushes to say defensively, and then regrets it, because he wanted to wait at least ten minutes in Pope’s presence to psych himself up to give him what he was actually harboring.

“Then what is it?”

“Uh, I got you these,” JJ juts his right arm out abruptly, pushing a bright bouquet of cheap supermarket flowers into Pope’s perfectly ironed button-down shirt.

“You bought me flowers?”

“Yeah, well,” JJ regrets the whole thing immediately, once he starts explaining himself, “I just, was thinking and you know, when someone wins a football game they throw Gatorade on your head, but you’d murder me if I ruined your fancy clothes, and this was too short notice of an event for me to like, weld you a personal trophy, and so I thought, okay, you’re talking to some fancy smart people, kind of like, I don’t know, singing to people, like a concert or a recital, and what do you give someone at a recital? Flowers, so…” JJ rambles all in one single breath, crinkles the plastic wrapping between his fingers and lets the bouquet drop sadly to his side.

“You were gonna weld a trophy?”

JJ sighs, “I’d learn for you.”

“It was just an interview, I don’t even know if I got it, they still have to look at my written application, the school and everything, this was just some local alumni, but I think it went pretty well, or, I don’t know,” It’s Pope’s turn to ramble, and JJ realizes how far gone he is when he thinks even this is cute, “Just an interview still.”

“An interview I’m really proud of you for,” JJ smiles, “Also, you definitely got it.”

“You think?”

“I _know,”_ JJ smirks.

Pope’s eyes seem to dance around the space, bright and hopeful almost, and JJ tries to convince himself he didn’t imagine the way they landed on his lips for the briefest of seconds.

“Gimme those flowers, dude.”

Most romantic four words JJ’s ever heard. He’ll replay them in his mind for weeks, he’s sure.

“You hungry?” JJ starts to skip down the last two steps, “My treat.”

“You’re paying for dinner?” Pope asks incredulously, following him, the flowers clutched proudly to his chest, “Who the hell are you and what have you done with JJ?”

“Shut up, I’m just trying to be nice and you’re ruining the gesture,” JJ feels his cheeks heat up, tries to look away to hide it from Pope, “You hungry or not?”

“I’m starving, is Kie coming?”

“No uh,” JJ shrugs, “Thought it could just be us.”

They don’t stop walking but it feels like Pope’s taken a mental pause, sucking in a big deep breath, “Oh yeah, that’s cool.”

JJ thinks he sounds disappointed in that answer, so he rushes to add, “I could invite her right now though—”

“No, no, don’t,” Pope shakes his head, squeezes the flowers in his hand a little bit tighter, “Just us is good.”

“It is?”

“Yeah, I mean, just caught me off guard for a minute cause…” he trials off, his confidence in his statement petering out like he’d decided whatever was going to come next was no longer worth it.

But JJ’s been fighting this floating feeling for far too long, and something about the way he’s been noticing Pope lately, all these little things, well, sue him for being a little hopeful.

“Why?”

Pope clears his throat, kicks at the rocks on the path under their feet, “Uh just because, I don’t know, it’s dumb,” Pope laughs in a shaky start, “Just the two of us, getting dinner, you’re paying, you bought me flowers…”

“Yes, those are all true statements.”

“Just, when you look at them all together, kinda feels like,” Pope shrugs, nervously, “Like a date.”

It would be the perfect time for a spit take.

“A date?”

“Yeah,” Pope’s eyes flicker up to look at JJ’s only briefly, then he gazes back down at his feet, “But you obviously didn’t mean it like that, so it’s fine.”

“Pope—”

“Not like seeing you in my shirt really helped your case, like ever.”

“ _Pope…”_

_“_ I mean, it’s true, you _do_ look better in them than I do, anyone who has eyes would agree. You honestly look so good I’d let you keep them but I’m dumb and I like taking them back because they smell like you,” Pope rambles to no end, his pace picking up nervously, and JJ skips to keep up with him, “I mean I’ve been thinking about wanting to go on a date with you for so long, even my _mom_ was making fun of me!”

“Pope, dude, can I just—”

“No, I’m not going to stop talking because as soon as I stop talking you’re going to try to say something really nice but ultimately I just made an absolute fool of myself and you’re gonna hate me,” Pope swings his hands around dramatically, the flowers going with it, “Which will suck because I love you. I love you and you probably hate me right now, and I made you uncomfortable and if I just keep talking I’ll never have to hear you reject me, and everything will be fine, so—”

And well, if Pope isn’t going to stop talking himself, JJ will just have to try on his own.

JJ stops in the middle of the deserted road, pulls Pope around by his free hand and tugs him to is chest, gives him one small lopsided smirk, that lasts only half a second, before kissing him.

That seems to do the trick.

JJ kisses him quick at first, his heart literally forgetting how to beat, before saying screw it and holding his face in his hands and kissing him deeply, soundly. JJ barely registers the sound of Pope dropping the flowers to the floor, only knows they must have because Pope’s hands are wrapped firmly around his waist, pulling their bodies flush together and he kisses him again and again.

Pope’s lips are soft and gentle and taste distinctly of mint toothpaste, everything JJ knows his own lips are not, but it doesn’t seem to deter Pope at all, as he keeps kissing him deeper, barely breathing.

Everything falls into place in a way JJ never knew could happen when you kiss someone. His chest feels tight and warm, but also open, freer than he’s ever felt. Pope’s nose nudges his cheek when he stops to breathe for a minute, and it makes JJ honest to god giggle, a sound he’s a assuming Pope likes because he cuts his moment to breathe short and kisses him again.

“I am so glad you brushed your teeth three times before this,” JJ jokes, pressing his forehead against Pope’s.

“Yeah, and I can tell you haven’t brushed yours in three days.”

“Disgusting, I would never!” JJ defends.

“Really?” Pope giggles and yeah, that is a really good sound, the way it feels on his cheeks, how he can count the creases around his squinted eyes and run his thumb across the soft skin there while he does. “Maybe you wanna kiss me again so I can check to see if you’re telling the truth?”

JJ rolls his eyes, but kisses him three more times anyway.

“I do not hate you,” JJ adds, stepping back just an inch to take him in, their hands swinging together between them, “In case that was not clear.”

“You don’t hate me and you don’t not like me,” Pope echoes an earlier statement, “Aren’t I the luckiest guy in the world?”

“I knew I was the man of your dreams, Pope.”

“Yeah,” Pope runs a hand through JJ’s hair, still smiling at him adoringly, “Yeah, somehow you are.”

“This went a lot better than I was expecting it.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, I mean, being hopelessly in love with your best friend for quite some time gives you a lot of gray area for imagining this kind of scenario,” JJ says, smile permanently on his face, “Worst case you were secretly very religious and I had no idea.”

“Best case?”

“Think it just happened.”

Pope hugs him then, and it feels so comforting and close, so intimate, in the middle of an empty road after Pope’s college interview wearing a shirt he stole from his room. Strange how life works.

“I’m not telling Kie though,” Pope whispers.

“Woah, no way _I_ am not telling her,” JJ argues, pulling out of the embrace and picking up Pope’s flowers for him, “She’s literally been on me about this for weeks.”

“Try months.”

“Months?”

“Yup.”

“ _Dude_ ,” JJ says, eyes twinkling.

“How are you making _dude_ sound romantic?”

“It’s part of my charm,” he winks, grabs Pope’s hand and starts walking them again, “But I’m still not telling Kie.”

“Why not?”

“Because she likes you better! She’ll spare you,” JJ says, looking over at Pope, “Fine, I’ll tell her if you pay for dinner tonight.”

“I thought you were paying for dinner tonight? You were taking me on a date!”

“ _You_ said it was a date,” JJ argues, “I was taking us as like a bro thing where I just sadly pined over you in my inner monologue.”

“Holy shit,” Pope says in a breathy laugh, shaking his head, “I love you so much.”

JJ buys dinner. Pope lets him keep the shirt.

(Neither of them tells Kie, he has like, a third eye or something, JJ’s convinced, and holds her _I told you so_ three whole days.)

JJ was sure there would be nothing he enjoyed more than stealing his boyfriend’s clothes from him, his dirty white t-shirts and his oversized sweatshirts for nights on the beach, he’s even graduated to stealing sweatpants and borrowing socks (his always go missing somewhere in the couch, so it’s really just a necessity at this point).

But sometimes he doesn’t need to borrow Pope’s shirts at all.

They’re out one night on the beach, and Pope’s parents aren’t home for the weekend so they don’t have to rush home to help cook dinner or poorly fold laundry. Instead they take their time walking home, going the long way and sitting by the water, talking about everything or nothing at all. It’s peaceful, and wonderful, and JJ still can’t believe this is his reality.

Even more wonderful yet, all he has to do is give Pope one look, and he convinces them they should stop at the ice cream shop on the way home.

The line’s average size for the end of the summer, and they only have to wait a few minutes before they’re up to the counter to order. Obviously, JJ spends the entire time agonizing over which flavor to get.

“I think I’m gonna get...” JJ starts, brows furrowed in concentration, “No, never mind.”

“This is not a life or death decision,” Pope nods, “It’s ice cream, JJ.”

“It’s still important.”

“Just pick a flavor, first one that comes to mind,” Pope says, “You should always trust your first instinct.”

“Yeah, on a multiple-choice test,” JJ laughs, “Not choosing an ice cream flavor.”

“Well there’s only two people in front of us and you still haven’t picked…”

“Fine! Strawberry!”

“Strawberry?”

“That was my first instinct!”

“ _That_ was your first instinct?” Pope repeats, skeptical, “All these flavors and you’re stressed because you can’t decide between boring ass strawberry and what? Vanilla?”

“I hear your tone and I don’t appreciate it.”

Pope just laughs.

“For your information, I happen to very much enjoy rocky road,” JJ implores, “But I also really like strawberry with rainbow sprinkles.”

“ _Rainbow sprinkles_.”

“You got a problem?”

“Nope,” Pope tries to say with a straight face, but his laughter is barely contained behind his tight-lipped smile.

“They’re both really good, and I do not get this opportunity often.”

“We have a carton of ice cream in the freezer at home.”

“Doesn’t taste the same.”

“I can’t believe you wanna get strawberry ice cream,” Pope finds this awfully amusing, as they step up in line, about to be called to order.

“With rainbow sprinkles.”

“Right.”

“Okay you know what, just because you bullied me, I’ll get the rocky road, but know I’m not happy about how I got here,” JJ bites, but the way Pope’s laughter flows over his shoulder makes him feel like melting.

They’re called up in line and JJ goes first, asks for his rocky road and waits on the balls of his feet impatiently like a little kid, that Pope offhandedly admits later is literally one of the cutest things he’s ever seen.

He thanks the attendant when she returns and hands him his ice cream with a little blue spoon, then she turns to Pope, “And what can I get you?”

“Strawberry, please,” Pope says, then adds quickly, like he’d almost forgotten, “With rainbow sprinkles.”

She nods ad turns to get his order, leaving Pope biting his lips to hold back a smile, and JJ seconds away from dropping his own ice cream.

“No way.”

“What?” Pope feigns innocence.

“You _didn’t_!”

“Yeah, well, seems I did,” he shakes his head fondly, JJ’s already one-excited demeanor bouncing even higher, and Pope flushes shyly, “But you’re gonna ask her for another spoon when she gets back, because we’re not, like, mingling flavors.”

“I can just use your spoon!”

“No, that’s gross.”

“Dude, I kissed you like three minutes ago.”

“That’s different,” Pope tries to argue.

“Oh my god, I cannot believe you got me strawberry ice cream,” JJ is still reeling in his disbelief. Every time he’s sure he’s already got the greatest boyfriend in the world, Pope goes ahead and proves him wrong. There isn’t a word big enough for how great he is.

“Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

“I wanna kiss you right now, dude.”

“Can you stop talking about kissing me and calling me dude in the same sentence?”

“What? I’m just telling the truth, _bro_.”

“Oh my god.”

“You’re a really great kisser, _man_ ,” JJ teases, face inches away from Pope’s who looks so embarrassed in the middle of this ice cream shop, “And the very best boyfriend, _homie_.”

“You cannot call me your boyfriend and your homie in the same breath.”

“Try and stop me!” JJ laughs.

“I won’t give you any strawberry ice cream with rainbow sprinkles.”

“ _Dude!_ ”

Pope gives him a pointed look.

“Fine, Pope Heyward, light of my life and strawberry of my eye—”

“That’s not the saying.”

“Yeah but like, strawberry ice cream, I was going for a _thing_ here.”

“Just finish the thought, she’s coming back with our ice cream.”

“I love you,” JJ says sincerely, eyes directly on Pope’s.

“See, now was that so hard?”

“Nah,” JJ shrugs, and pulls Pope’s face up to his and kisses him quickly. The employee returns just at that moment, and oddly enough, JJ is enjoying Pope looking at him all dazed and breathless and surprised like that way more than his ice cream, so without breaking eye contact, JJ swiftly pulls some cash out of his pocket, nudges Pope to grab his ice cream and throws the money on the counter in its place. “Thank you so much, ma’am, keep the change!”

He runs him and his boyfriend out of the store and kisses him again as soon as they’re outside, Pope remarking how he tastes like rocky road and bad decisions.

They walk the few blocks to the house with their ice cream and only two spoons, but Pope keeps his complaining about mixing flavors mostly to himself. It is increasingly difficult, JJ finds, to try to eat you ice cream, steal some of your boyfriend’s, and hold his hand all at once.

He ends up spilling both flavors on his shirt (which, in a surprising turn of events, actually belongs to him and not Pope for once.)

He’s complaining about his sticky hands, covered in melted ice cream, and how the worst part is Pope won’t hold his hand until they get home and he washes them off, but a few minutes later they’re home. He washes his hands and drops both their empty cups in the garbage, and follows a few steps behind Pope up to his bedroom.

“Well, I’d say this was a very successful day,” JJ jumps into the room, Pope kicking off his shoes at the side of the bed and hopping to sit on it. JJ’s about to follow suit when he remembers his shirt. “Oh uh, can I borrow a shirt, I don’t wanna get rainbow sprinkles on your bed,” JJ tucks his chin and looks down at his shirt with a laugh.

“Why didn’t you just grab one of yours before we got to my room?”

“I wasn’t thinking that far in advance,” JJ shrugs, before pulling his shirt up and over his head to change, “So, can I please borrow a shirt?”

He turns to face Pope, who has frozen completely in place, a step away from the drawer JJ _knows_ he keeps all his t-shirts in. His jaw goes kind of slack and JJ can see him take a deep breath, and his eyes go up and down quickly.

“No.”

“No?”

“No, I don’t think I have any shirts you can borrow,” Pope says steadily.

“What?” JJ laughs, confused, “You’re gonna make me stand here shirtless when I know you have— oh.”

“Yeah sorry, no shirts,” Pope deadpans, but JJ catches the briefest hint of a smile.

_God,_ he loved this boy.

JJ all but runs towards him and pushes Pope back on the bed, and kisses him breathless.

**Author's Note:**

> come say on twitter! @peculiarblue


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